
iilass"P R 4 00 3 



Book. 






Moods & Outdoor Verses 



Moods & Outdoor 

Verses 



By Richard Askham 

/ 

i - 



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London 
R. Brimley Johnson 

1902 



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Copyright, 1Q02 
All rights reset ved 




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Pan S 3 Bears after E. FrJmiet—see p. 64 



CONTENTS 






PAGE 


Deeming Dale 


I 


West Wind 


4 


In the Colorado Desert 


6 


October 


8 


November 


10 


Mermaid 


13 


Advent 


15 


Of Bolts and Shells 


17 


These Forty Years 


19 


In Solitude 


H 


A Testament 


25 


Reality 


28 


Music 


30 


Giordano Bruno 


32 



vi Contents 



The Challenge 


34 


Russia, 187— 


37 


Atlas 


43 


Cellini's Prayer 


44 


A Sunflower in a Town Garden 


46 


Flowers 


48 


Apology 


5o 


Ditties 




An Old Dialogue 


53 


Dragon's Teeth 


56 


Holy Marketing 


59 


Partnership 


60 


The Labourer 


61 


Over a Honeycomb 


64 


The Little People 


6 9 


Californian Verses 




March Wind 


79 


In the Sierras 


82 


A Railroad Builder 


85 


In England — May 


86 


Envoi 


89 



DEEMING DALE 

Who is it knocks at my window ? Ho 

Who is it rides the gale ? 
" Yonder the Pitiless Ladies go 

Adown the Deeming Dale : 



" The cold of a cloud is over them, 

Open the pane and see ; 
All the women of perilous dream 

Go drifting drearily, 



2 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

" One by one on the bitter wind 

Companionless and grey, 
With the empty sound of a host behind 

To bring them on their way. 



" But yonder, yonder comes the Moon, 
And yonder see them turn : 

Jewelled and fierce their hunting shoon 
Fly flashing through the fern." 



Now whither do they ride so fast 
Upon the whirling wind ? 

" Fasten the pane against the blast ! 
Hasten and draw the blind." 



Deeming Dale 
Who is it knocks at my window ? Ho 

Who is it rides the gale ? 
" And who would join the hosts that go 

Adown the Deeming Dale ?" 



WEST WIND 

The billows of the west wind surge and run 
Lipping along the long length of the wall ; 

The leaves are parched and weary of the sun, 
And glad into the windy wave they fall : 



The old trees laugh because they know once more 
The surges of the west wind swell and swing 

About their nakedness, and feel them roar 
Foaming against the wall to which they cling : 



West Wind 5 

Lipping along the long length of the wall, 
Stealing away the burden of the year 

The billows of the west wind sweep and call 
A message which the old trees laugh to hear. 



Yon goes the sun ; and cold and clear and pale 
Rises the first impassive winter's night ; 

And summer is forgot upon the gale 

And swept along its billows out of sight. 



IN THE COLORADO DESERT 

Salt barren bottom of forgotten seas 
Wider than the horizon, saving where 
The bare blue mountain-wall is lifted up ; 
Bald San Jacintho's eyeless vision looks 
Across your waste and nothing finds to tell 
God any more remembers what He made ; 
No cloud across that blue : no cloud of dust 
Traversing that grey field with living feet, — 
No bones to tell aught ever died here : only 
Desperate devil-weeds and cactus growths 
Bitter with immemorial neglect. 



In the Colorado Desert 

Yet these forgotten creatures of the waste 
Fiercely remember all ; again they write 
With crabbed fingers on the burning page 
Letter by letter that defiant word 
Which one time was a rose in Paradise. 



OCTOBER 

For them that dwell in streets, Cathedrals make 
A pillared gloom — a haunted twilight, rich 
With many-coloured low, horizon-lights — 
Forests of solemn peace, — glades where the wind 
Of organ-pipes may wander in and out 
Among the shafts and banners, and where God 
Amid the worship dwells. 

But now for me 
It is October, when the woods begin 
To let their labours go, and all their ways 



October 9 

Are deep in fallen leaves and thick with gold. 
About the plumey dark that pine-trees make 
Swift-running shadows steal, and jewelled lights 
Silent as sunbeams throng the solemn gloom. 
Now, through the many pillared stillness, falls 
A meteor leaf into the yellow pool 
Beneath the chestnut ; like a crimson pane 
Rubies a maple in the slanting sun. 
The fronded undergreen stirs to and fro, 
The bracken-banners move along the glade, 
While ever through the fretted space above 
The wind goes chanting. 

Oh, the woods are full 
Of worship ! Christ-like, the October sun 
Shines and discovers God among the trees. 



NOVEMBER 

Tis the season of despair, 

Nothing grows, and nothing grieves ; 
The impenetrable air 

Sulks among the rotting leaves : 



Nothing grieves, and nothing grows 
But the toadstools in the moss ; 

Never any bugle blows, 
Never any tempests toss : 



November 1 1 

For the year is fall'n asleep 

Old and rich and well-at-ease ; 
And they slumber, they who keep 

Record of our destinies. . . . 



Blow North-east wind, keen and bare 
Gleams thy sword across the hill, 

Shouts the shuddering battle-blare 
Of thine unrelenting will : 



And the sleeping woods begin 
To awake and answer ; strange 

Voices that are old and thin 
Cry the syllables of change : 



12 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Rock the branches overhead, 

Crying, moaning ; and below 
Gusts of laughter snatch the dead 

Leaves and swirl them to and fro. 



Hail again, terrible One, 

Lord of passion, King of fear ! 

Days of peace are past and done 
And the winter days are here. 



Only blow not in the spring 

When the gentler wind-flower blows ; 
Blast no orchard's blossoming, 

Murder no adventurous rose. 



MERMAID 

Anguish and hope and high and desperate deed 

Go by me, and I hear unpitying 

The wild appeal of those that fail, and sink 

Battered among the rocks ; athwart the storm 

The lantern urges out into the dark 

Its passionate vain light. 

But as for me 
I have forgotten any kindling care 
In the world's story. Here I sit and wait 
The ending of the tale ; then shall I hear 



14 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

A clarion calling from across the deep, 
And catch a footfall on the impetuous wave, 
And lo, he comes ! Till when I dream among 
These idle playthings that the ocean puts 
Between the empty chasm of years and me. 



Wherefore on Faralone I watch the ships 

Making the port, or plunging out away 

Upon their eager errands. Here I sit : 

I go upon no errand : I begin 

No labour, nor accomplish none ; the sound 

Of ocean is about me, and the drift 

Of all things going on after the moon. 



ADVENT 

I waited : he is come. Oh, I have dreamed 
Of him and doubted ; now I understand, — 

In all the day it was his glory gleamed, 

In all the darkness I have touched his hand. 



Tis the new life beginning ; now I see 
This cell is grown too small to hold me : I 

Am driven out by joy's necessity, 
For if I were to linger, joy must die. 



1 6 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

So I must out and on. Fling the door wide, 
Good Porter, whether thou be life or death ! 

These narrow walls are not for me ; outside 
The whole world breathes the wonder of his 
breath. 



OF BOLTS AND SHELLS 

Shrieks the wild wind i' the bolted door- 

That treacherous wind ! 

But listen, unconfined, 
He is all mirth across the open moor. 



Haunted, confused with pent-up sound, 

This barren shell ; 

But plain each syllable 
Of all the shouting waves beyond its bound. 



1 8 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

And so shrieks Fate i' the soul confined — 

Ah, treacherous Fate ! 

The heart emancipate 
Hears her all laughter like the moorland wind. 



And so, confused as in a shell 

The pent-up sound, 

Goes Thought, till all around 
He feels the Ocean, and breaks through the spell. 



THESE FORTY YEARS 

Do I look young ? Oh, I am strangely old : 
It is forty, forty years since I was young ; 
There hangs a solid veil of forty years 
Between me and the sunlight. 

Forty years — 
Ah, that is fourteen thousand winter days 
Of winter sunlight — wan, emaciate, 
Pitiful happiness, that one cannot tell 
If it be memory of some far-away 
Or hope of something farther ; if it be 
Pale, tearful, tremulous Promise, — or Regret. 



20 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Only I know it is not gladness. No, 

You can take hold of gladness, and sit down 

Here in the midst of time ; let time go by, 

And have eternity. And well I know, 

If there be any faith in any thing 

There is such joy. But it is winter here. 

You say, 'tis summer ? Summer is for you ; 

Yours is another latitude than mine ; 

Half the world lies between your world and me. 



Then, summer comes ? Nay, pardon me, my 

friend ; 
Whether the summer ever come again 
To me, who once knew summer far away 
As 'twere in another world, and cannot know 



These Forty Years 21 

Summer among the seasons where I dwell 
Being in exile, and a stranger here, — 
That is my secret, and God keepeth it : 
He opens not His hand that I may see. 

Tis true I am not old as women are 
Who win the full enfranchisement of age ; 
I am young, young in my unyielding years ; 
Time brings me not his blessed gifts, for still, 
Though I be very tired of patience, sick 
Of wintry days, still am I as of old, 
Life lying yet untasted and undone. 



I think there is no hunger matched with mine. 
Here's joy enough for other women ; love 



22 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Of them I love, — husband and children, yet 
Ever within the body of my soul 
There is a hunger of virginity 
Which dreams in me unsatisfied, until 
Its veil be rent, and it awake to know 
The intimate thrill of love discovering it. 

Now forty years I bear about in me 
This dream, this hope that is a doubt, this voice 
That only speaks its one articulate word 
With dreary iteration, meaningless- 
Meaningless all these forty years, and yet 
It mocks the meaning of all words beside. 

You said that I looked young. But in the glass 
I see an age-old question-mark that is 



These Forty Years 23 

Written upon my brain : can you not see — 
Look in my eyes — can you not see it there ? 

God, I think 'tis stamped into the flesh, 
So that if any answer ever came 

1 should go questioning still unto the end. 
Into the flesh ? Nay, God Himself must take 
This soul He made, maddened into despair 
By His divine delay, with His own hands 
He must accomplish in it the last change 
And change it, that it may be satisfied. 



IN SOLITUDE 

Lonely he lived ; but, as a sovereign peak 

Catches and keeps the vapour of the fields 

When it is sunny noon in them, he sate 

Folded about in our perplexities. 

The burden of our battle filled his ears, 

Sounds of our pain besieged him, — and there 

closed 
The fog and cloud of every loveless deed 
Sullenly in upon his solitude. 



A TESTAMENT 

Ah, Change that changeth ! For awhile we touch 
Assurance with our fingers, then our clutch 

Is empty, and anon it is forgot ; — 
Tell me, Beloved, whether love be such. 



Ah, Change that changeth us from all we know ! 
We love, who knew not Love an hour ago — 

Another hour, and Love must be forgot : — 
Tell me, Beloved, if it be not so. 



26 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Must thou not pass, and I remain to miss 
The glory gathered up into thy kiss, — 

To grope in vain till I forget thee, — thou 
Waking in other worlds, but I in this ? 

Nay, but thou wilt not leave me ! Thou and I 
Together while the changing worlds go by ! 

For Love is immortality, or else 
It were a better thing for us to die. 

Wherefore let us petition Love to be 

Sole testament and bond 'twixt thee and me : 

There is no pledge shall bind us, here or 
there, 
Like His inalienable liberty. 



A Testament 27 

Though change they bring, and death, He only 

fears 
No hurt from the inevitable years : 

And if we lose His hand, Beloved, then 
What is there but mortality and tears ? 



REALITY 

Rare is that blossom of sweet memory 
The dreamer's vision, out of days forgot 
Mystically remembered and reborn 
In eager, active-fingered, arduous days, 
Yet never to be native there again. 



Dream who may dream ! Rarer the ringing act 
Chiming with act in perfect parallel 
And building up invincible success, 



Reality 29 

Rounded as lies a poem on the page 

And perfect as a song. Dream who would dream ! 

But here's the marble of reality, 

And dreams may go. 



But when the deed is done, 
What is the thing accomplished ? Is 't a flower, 
A star, a passion, this accomplished thing ? 
Something to ring forever and for aye, 
To burn and throb and blossom in God's hand 
Until the ages cease ? Or is it but 
Handfuls of barren ashes and vain dust ? 



MUSIC 

Yonder they sit in the immortal gloom, 
Who, laying sacred hands upon the keys, 
Erstwhiles unlocked their silent mysteries 
To cry, with chords and clarions, of doom 
And world-bewildering promise, till there come 
Answer from all that dwell between the seas. 
But now there is no noise about their knees ; 
Only afar the deathless echoes boom : 
Silent are they and still. Then who is he 
Dares enter now beside them and sit down 



Music 3 1 

To shake those keys again with mortal hand ? 
Calmly he comes to that high company : 

He only sees the Music smile and frown, 
He only hears the sound of its command. 



GIORDANO BRUNO 

The flames leap up : leap angry flame, 
Kind minister of Death and Shame ! 
Your blazing blade hews down the gate, 
Loosing me to a larger fate. 
Spirit of Fire, ardour of God, 
Avenge me on this sullen clod ! 
Your light vest fitter seems for me 
Than earth's time-tattered livery : 
Yours are the spiritual wings 
Whereon must ride the soul that sings 



Giordano Bruno 

Music the body may not bear, 
And hears what only spirits dare. 



Leap up, ye flames ! Bite out your smart, 
And loose me to creation's heart ! 



33 



THE CHALLENGE 

Where Freedom is there once the women chose 
To purchase it ; and now at break of night 

Ever across that land a bugle blows 

Their challenge, and declares their ancient 
right :— 

" These fields that ye inherit, we the unknown 
Mothers of our Unconquerable Dead, 

Have in the long-forgotten ages sown 
Proudly for you, and left unharvested. 



The Challenge 35 

" Yielding no miserable gift to heaven 

Dumbly obedient, as those who must, 
We of our own unfettered choice have given 

Our glory to you in eternal trust : 

" We gave your land immortal garrison 
Of spirits unsubdued, for ours were they, 

Conceived and born of us, and every one 
Suckled and set upon the dreadful way. 

" God left it with us whether they should be 
The petted nurslings of indulgent ease, 

Gay truants from the toils of destiny ; 

But they were heroes from their mothers' 
knees : 



36 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

" They never turned away from hope or fear, 
Nor dreamed a dream they dared not pledge in 
blood : 

We prayed they might die conquerors, and here 
They stood to perish in the onsweeping flood 



" If the event were worthy them or no 

Who questions ? They were true, they would 
not yield : 

But they were ours that died for you, and oh, 
Inalienable is their battle-field." 



RUSSIA, 187- 

Because there was a blazing light 
Kindled of God within his brain, 

They shut him out of mortal sight, 
And builded up their lies again. 



About him fathoms deep, the stone 
Is set, impenetrable, blind : 

He stands at bay, guarding alone 
The desperate treasure of his mind. 



38 Moods and Outdoor Voices 

They took the world from his embrace ; 

They stole him from our destinies. 
Sunshine nor shadow haunts that place ; 

There is no singing of the breeze ; 



Only the prying sentry light, 

Only the smothered shrieks that tell 
How ruthlessly the Hosts of Night 

Carry some human citadel. 



I know not whether any more 
He bears his battle ; even now 

His body passes through the door 
The sign of silence on its brow ; 



Russia, 187- 39 

Vacant it goes, and he is gone. 

Better we all had died instead, 
For now he dies and we live on 

With all our light of living dead. 



It cannot be, my brothers ! Still 
He lingers ; often leaps his blood 

With the mysterious inner thrill 

And heart-throb of our brotherhood : 



Ay, though Saint Peter and Saint Paul 
Entombs his body, he is ours, 

And we will shake that triple wall 

And we will trample down those towers. 



40 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Because there is a blazing light 
Kindled of God within his brain, 

Ye shut him out of mortal sight 
And builded up your lies again. 



But buried deep beneath the stone, 
And sealed within the silence dim, 

His heart is like a giant grown ; 
The whole earth trembles over him. 



Struggling there in the night, he starts 
The passion throbbing in our veins ; 

He wins his victory in our hearts, 
His vision kindles in our brains, — 



Russia, 187- 41 

And that is Russia. Vainly you, 

Though half the world be in your fee — 

Dream to obliterate from view 
The Russia that is yet to be ! 



Great White Tsar, I pity you when 
Peter and Paul shall sometime make 

Your broken spirit know what men 
And women suffered for your sake : 



I pity you when God shall turn 

Our agony of torture in 
Upon you ; when you cannot spurn 

Away the anguish of your sin, 



42 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

But plain before you Russia stands 
In all the madness and despair 

Wrought by your own Imperial hands ; 
When even you become aware 



How beautiful she is, and how 

She is not yours, not yours — unless 

You claim the scar across her brow, 
And in her voice the bitterness. 



ATLAS 

His face is dark ; the burden of the day 
Rests on his shoulders ; patiently he stands 
Supporting heaven itself in both his hands : 

Ah, if he set it down, and went his way ! 



CELLINI'S PRAYER 

I COULD not be a beggar, bowing knees 

Always before You ; for You made me Man 
To prove what's manhood in the splendid span 

Of Your broad day ; — to front the Mysteries 

As one who is a Master, and to seize 

Boldly what craftsman's instrument he can 
And chip and carve a corner of the Plan 

Marked in the Marble of our Destinies. 

But when You set me forth to stand at bay 
Upon this Manhood, and to fling it down 



Cellini's Prayer 45 

Dauntless and ultimate before the world, 

You promised You would set Your back that day 

To mine and vindicate my faith's renown ; — 
Then help me now the desperate pledge is hurled ! 



A SUNFLOWER IN A 
TOWN-GARDEN 

HEjiath a kingly image, a sublime 

Magnificence, as though his spirit were 

The heart of some world-conquering wanderer : 

Kindly he condescends to us who climb 

Shouting and jostling to the gates of time : 
He too hath striven, but now his royal fare 
Is for the beggars and the bees to share, — 

His gold untarnished by penurious crime. 



A Sunflower in a Town-Garden 47 
Surely this is some battle-beaten soul 
Of long ago, who having victory won, 

Is now at peace with all the kindly earth ; 

Who comes contented with an old-time mirth 
To find this narrow plot and claim control, 
Sunflower and Viceroy of the very Sun ! 



FLOWERS 

Flowers for the heart, and for the body meat, — 
Feasting that either lacks is incomplete ; 

Needs must the world have bread, but oh, beside 
Give me the poppies growing with the wheat ! 



And when along your mowing fields you pass, 
Count in the tall moon-daisies with the grass ; 

Count the June roses, and the trespassing 
Enchanted lover and his blushing lass. 



Flowers 49 

For joy is gust of life ; and then I wot 
Will God erase the earth when, like a blot, 
Unstarred it lies on heaven's manuscript, 
The song and glory of its birth forgot. 



APOLOGY 

I am a child who takes your hand 
To look into your tearfulness 

If he may something understand 
Of that deep darkness of distress 

Wherein you bear your lonely pain 

Until the daylight comes again. 



I am a child to kiss your eyes 
And with my lips wipe off the tears ; 



Apology 51 

I have no help that satisfies, 

Yet may it soothe a moment's fears 
Even with wistful tears of mine 
And faith that is but infantine. 



Forgive a child who cannot more 
Than love you, if he sometime press 

Too eagerly about the door 
Of your unspoken bitterness, 

Or upon sacred silence break 

With sobbing more than men would make. 



And then you must forgive a child 
Where a man could not be forgiven, 



52 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

When he is all too soon beguiled 

From loving tears ; when, gently driven 
By Sorrow's self away, he tries 
To entice you to his paradise. 



AN OLD DIALOGUE 

" Who art thou, little one, 
Sister of the violet ? 
Haste and tell me, 
What is thy name ? 
Prithee — thine eyes are wet, 
Sweetheart, little one, 
Is it for shame ?" 
11 Me they call Poverty, 
That is my name. 



54 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

" And thou that askest me — 
Merry as a Mary-cup 
Overbrimming 
Full of the sun — 
Thou, sir, that standest up 
- Tall, and askest me — ? " 
" Me, little one ? 
Francis, they christened me, 
Bernadone's son. 



" Wealth from the woolly sheep 

Glitters in my father's till 

Thee to purchase 

Merrier name : 

See, now, my hands I fill, 



An Old Dialogue 55 

Give it to thee to keep 
Sure against shame." 
11 Nay, I am Poverty, 
That is my name." 



u But oh, sweet Poverty, 

What is 't I can give thee then ? 

" Francis, Francis, 

Child of the sun, 

Flower in the mead of men, 

Thou that lovest me 

God's Little One,— 

Give me thy merry heart, 

Bernadone's son." 



DRAGON'S TEETH 

While all men were at work, I went 
To climb the top of Heaven's tent, 
And looking down I saw beneath 
An enemy sowing Dragon's Teeth, 



Dropping them silently in the soil 
Amid the peasant people's toil ; 
All day long though the sun was high 
Nobody saw him sowing but I. 



Dragon's Teeth 57 

Dragon's Teeth are little and grey, 
Sharp and easily hidden away 
Till they are to be unconcealed 
Whetted white for the battle-field. 



Out of his bag the Sower spills 
Handfuls into the hopper of mills, 
And the very bread we eat 
Is Dragon's Tooth as well as wheat : 



Out of his bag the Sower spills 
Handfuls over the flying wheels, 
And the very clothes we wear 
Hide Dragon's Teeth among the hair : 



58 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Out of his bag the Sower spills 

Handfuls into the running rills, 

And the fishes streaked and brown 

And the dead leaves carry them down, 

Till the diver far beneath 

Among the pearls finds Dragon's Teeth. 



HOLY MARKETING 

To heaven's market holy men repair 
In vehicles of penitence and prayer 
With baskets of desire, and there are given 
All they can carry back again from heaven. 



PARTNERSHIP 

The pear-tree thinks a thought divine 
And reads the mind of God ; 

She understands how to combine 
The sunlight and the sod. 



A little dust — a little rain — 
Enough ; the passionate pip 

Fashions a pear-tree. It is plain 
She hath God's partnership. 



THE LABOURER 

I know a little gladsome cot i 

(My own, God wot) 
Whose windows sparkle with the light 

Be 't day or night, 
Be 't sunbeam, lamp, or merry blaze. 

Thither all days 
Homeward my feet come hastening fast, 

To find at last 
The wicket, whose familiar creak 

Doth welcome speak, 



62 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

To see the handle shining out 

Eager to shout 
" Come in " to me, but then the mat 

Reminds it that 
No dirty-footed man can stray 

Within that way. 
Yet even while I rub and stand 

Handle in hand, 
The door itself leaps open wide, 

Some one inside 
Who is the spirit of the place 

Finds out my face, 
Unshaven, unwashen though it be, 

And kisses me. 



The Labourer 63 

My little cot, for thee I toil 

And make and moil, 

As in the cold wet earth the root 
Digs, for the fruit 

That hangs in sunshine overhead 
Juicy and red. 



OVER A HONEYCOMB 



(ON A MARBLE GROUP OF PAN AND BEARS, BY 
FREMIET IN THE LUXEMBOURG) 



Your God is overcast with care 
But mine is not so grave ; 

He is divinely debonair, 

He is not Sorrow's slave ; 

For laughter like a tempest blows 
Across His face, and fun 

Is kindled there, because He knows 
The secrets of the sun. 






Over a Honeycomb 65 

Oft when the village steeple calls 

The sober folk to pray, 
I climb above the waterfalls 

And find Him far away : 



The mass-bell rings, the people kneel, 
The holy Thing is done ; 

Fearfully glad the peasants steal 
From that communion : 



But up and up the mountain side 

There is a path I know 
Where only mountain shadows ride 

And forest-creatures go ; 

E 



66 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Beyond the meadow-plots, beyond 
The clustering barns that keep 

The garner of that careful land, 
Into the forest-deep 



It enters : there is He at play 
With glad, innocent things, 

My God, Whom all the stars obey 
In all their journeyings ; 



Who holds the terrors of the night 
And keeps the morning's keys ; 

Who closes in His matchless might 
Ages and destinies. 



Over a Honeycomb 67 

Now where there is an emerald pool 

Of sunshine in the wood, 
And the fine mountain grass, that's full 

Of flowers, is deep and good, 



I have been watching how there strayed 

Two solemn little bears 
And how they found the honey laid 

To catch them unawares, — 



The comb of honey in the sun 
Melting and hot and sweet, — 

All through the grass the bright drops run 
Between the bearkins' feet ; 



68 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Half pushing forward eagerly, 
Half pulling back in dread, 

They nudge each other on, while He 
Leans laughing overhead, 



Mischievous pleasure in His eyes 
As though He were a child, — 

The bearkins are so fondly wise, 
So prudently beguiled ! 



And with His rod He lies there yet 
Poking their snouts, lest they 

Lost in the honey, should forget 
The God with whom they play. 



THE LITTLE PEOPLE 

/ know a Little Folk content to dwell 

In the eternal twilight of a forest 
That cloaks the sun and stars, but shelters them : 

There, all along measureless streets of shadow 
Between the dark and daylight, haunt the tribes 

Of Little People. 



They come who carry lightning in their mien, 
Whose voices wing the twisted word of magic, 



jo Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Who utter fiats and accomplish them, 

Who send their dreams about the world in 
thunder : 
And as they come thickens the throng of those 

Obedient to them, — 

The throng of those uncertain and obscure 
Who have no magic, who imagine nothing, 

Whose words awake no echo, and whose eyes 
Kindle no light (but when the vision flashes 

They flame to it, and when the voice cries, then 

They are its echo :) 

These are the Little Folk, and they have all 
The human joys and woes, yea, love and 
passion — 



The Little People 71 

But smaller : myriad upon myriad they 

In every land, so that no record may be 
Beyond their silly names, their empty years, 

Their thoughtless labour. 

As one and one who would account them ? These 
Are but the creatures of the kings of know- 
ledge,— 
Mere human stuff, till a creative hand 
Take and attempt, and mould it into some- 
thing ;— 
Rebels or slaves, they do not understand 

The giant's purpose. 

Ruthless the giants seem, in multitudes 
Treading them for the purple glow of glory 



72 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

That robes a king ; and if the goblets kiss 

Beneath imperial vows of high achievement, 
Nations of Little People were but grapes 

Unto that vintage ; 

Ruthless sometimes, in insolent contempt 

Of all who scan not the celestial circles, — 
Wantonly wise ; but others are there, they 
That issue from the abysmal court of 
council 
Flaming with Fate's sublime decree, their hearts 
Sternly benignant, 

Who if they rule with rods yet gather up 
The woe they give into a great compassion 



The Little People 73 

For these so slow to learn the lore of pain, 

For these so sudden after flying pleasure ; 
Yet must they rule, and must the Little Folk 

Obey or suffer : — 



Suffer, but not as men who entertain 

Writhing at every stroke, the triple torture 

Of bodies learned in the exquisite 
Secrets of feeling, writhe and yet endure it 

Supported by the fellowship of all 

The patient ages: 



Not so — the brothers minor suffer not 
After so fierce a pattern ; yet upon them 



74 Moods and Outdoor Verses 
Descends the same inevitable stroke, 
And they — they are not solaced when they 
languish 
By that old cordial, that sovereign cup 

Of world-communion. 



They never knew the illimitable noon, 
They never dipped into the deep of midnight ; 

Bliss is not theirs though merry, nor despair 
Though they be ignorant ; daylight and dark 

They know not, nor the timeless hours that are 
In Hell and Heaven. 



/ know a Little Folk content to dwell 
In the eternal twilight of a forest 



The Little People 75 

That cloaks the sun and stars, but shelters them : 
There, all along measureless streets of shadow 
Between the dark and daylight, haunt the tribes 

Of Little People. 



CALIFORNIAN VERSES 






■?a 



MARCH WIND 

Out of the breast of the calm inscrutable moun- 
tains, 

The irresistible mirth that brightens the face 
of day 

Comes galloping over the plains 

And over the rolling hills, 

To wake the sea with the songof the wakening earth . 

Oh, rollicking wind 

Your steps are in the tree-tops, 



80 Moods and Outdoor Verses 

Your music is a multitude of feet : 

For you the Cypress shakes her boughs, the 

Eucalyptus 
Empties upon you all his silken tassels. 

Ah, what is the song you sing 
Stepping in the tree-tops — 
Words among the murmur 
Of innumerable leaves ? 

The Gum-trees in their wonder dance together, 
They love your footsteps ; they laugh to feel your 

coming, 
They bow their lovely heads beneath 
The insteps of your feet. 
But as they dance they listen, 



March Wind 81 

They listen, swaying till their tall tops touch ; 

They stoop, they feel the rushing 

Of the great words through them ; 

They sigh back in the silence. 

They are young Bacchantes 

Shaken, shivering, 

Possessed with the surprises of unbearable delight : 

They have abandoned dream 

And wakened up to ecstasy. 

Wakener of forests on your path to the Pacific, 

Ah, what is the song you sing 

To these that know your footsteps, — 

Words that make this murmur 

Of innumerable leaves ? 



IN THE SIERRAS 

The day pours down 

Unmingled breathless draughts of August heat 
Out of the great bowl of the blazing sky : 
It fills the valleys up, and overflows 
Across the ridges of the hills. 



A stray syllabic tinkle 

(Some milking-cow browsing alone along the thin 
dry grass) 



In the Sierras 83 

Passes unanswered, 

And sinks into the silence and the slumber 
Of the untenanted day. 



But when the bowl is empty, — when 

Earth turns her shoulder on the masterful sun,- 

The hills draw a faint breath, and a waft comes 

Along the valleys, — 

Comes, quivering up the aromatic paths 

Heavily sweet with stirring the hot leaves. 



Then the moon's brow breaks slowly from the 

pines, 
Like an amber cloud but purer : 



84 Moods and Outdoor Verses 
Earth wonders at her coming ; the dusky hills 
Ring to the chirrup of crickets : 
Then all is still : — the moon 
Walking the silent piney ridges, 
Overburdened with light. 



A RAILROAD BUILDER 

Long time ago, beside these Sunset Seas, 
He found this Garden of Hesperides 
Guarded by dragon distances, and drew 
His double steel upon them till he slew : 
But now himself at handle of that blade 
Keepeth the garden which the gods have made. 

They who are privileged to taste the fruit 
Enter therewith upon that wild dispute 
Which all men bandy, and at last aver 
He is both tyrant and deliverer. 



IN ENGLAND— MAY 

(TO AT THE PIANO) 

If mine could write it as your ringers play, 
Across the village and its white highway, 
Across the park and palings, you should feel 
The sea-breeze blowing through the Golden Gate 
Among the many-shouldered hills. 

The Bay 
Would bid us out again on holiday, 
And Tamalpais would set his perfect line 
Against the blazing noon. 



In England — May 87 

And you and I 
Would make a lovers' picnic in a nook 
By some deep runnel, that carves out his way 
Among the naked roots of giant trees 
Darkening up above, — ancient until 
The wonder of the centuries of Man 
Seems as a child's. 

Then while the shredded light 
Twinkled about the gloom of those huge limbs 
Circling us in, — then would we sigh and say 
" How good to be in England, just for May ! " 



ENVOI 

(TO MY WIFE) 

So little have I done — this little book — 
Of all I would do, nor have finished it, 
Nor any part made perfect as I would 
Had I the swifter sight, the finer touch ; 
But little as it is, it is for thee. 
What were it else but an unmothered thing, 
An elf-child, a preposterous, pitiful 
Waif, unrelated to a living soul ? 



Envoi 89 

And, wonder though it is, were 't not for thee 
What were the wonder of this wide new land — 
These thronging faces with their challenges 
To thought, — but hostile, and great loneliness ; 
But now it is become that generous land 
Where first we made our home together, first 
Went hand in hand about the good day's work 
Gladdening through it hour upon blue hour. 



East Oakland, 
California. 



Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co 
London &° Edinburgh 



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